Wired
by Chaos Dragon
Summary: She tried to forget, tried to hide it, tried to keep anyone from finding out that three years ago she nearly died by his hands twice. Now the memories refuse to stay buried and the nightmare is just beginning. angstfest DxS


**Coauthored with Twisted Creampuff; all hail our mad genius!**

Wired

As a child Sam had never been afraid of the dark. It hadn't changed much as she grew older, but there night's when Sam couldn't bear the silent, still shadows. Tonight was one such, as she clawed her way from a nightmare, hair matted and skin slick with sweat as she gasped back a scream. The frantic beat of her heart was loud in her ears as Sam reached for the light at her bedside, and then stumbled out of it altogether, legs shaking and blankets tangling at her feet as she lunged for the main switch that would turn her room bright.

She just about made her way to the bathroom, damping her towel with water from the tap before burying her sweat-slicked face into its comforting coolness, willing the palpitations of her heart that were ramming against her rib cage to cease, as she undressed, wiping the sticky remnants of salty sweat from her body. Under normal circumstances, a shower would be preferable, but Sam didn't trust her footing to be steady enough for that just yet. The less she moved around, the less the Goth would feel as though the very ground below her feet was about to give way, leaving her to plummet to her death.

Just thinking about it made her stomach rebel dangerously. The smell of animals and popcorn and the sticky sweetness of cotton candy, and the sawdust. Even now, three years later, the smell of sawdust was enough to send Sam into spasms of fear. But it was there now and the slim girl barely made it to the toilet before retching into, her entire body shaking with the force of it, the fear behind it.

There was no putting off that shower now, Sam grimaced as she scrubbed at the trail of vomit trickling down her chin, gripping the edge of the toilet to steady herself as she rose. Besides, a shower would probably do her nerves a hell lot of good, she assured herself, as she staggered into the cubicle, hitting the switch that activated the power shower.

Her free hand worked the gently lavender scented body wash into a lather as the Goth groped for her toothbrush, squeezing herself a generous dollop of toothpaste in an attempt to rid her mouth of the taste of half digested tofu and recycled stomach acid. Satisfied with her attempt to get clean, Sam grabbed her towel to dry her off, cursing violently as she abruptly slipped, falling to her knees. As irrational as she knew that she was being, the sound of her own voice was a comfort to her.

Wrapping a bathrobe about her lithe form, she exited the bathroom.

The fear had started to recede somewhat after she'd put herself under the water. It was almost like it could wash the years old terror away, even though Sam knew it not to be true. Just a little bit of reverse psychology or something—it was Jazz's place to know such things, she was the one of the four of them who couldn't get out of her psych texts often enough to score a date, much less notice the way Tucker followed after her like a love struck puppy. The sounds of her cursing helped push it down even more, the simple normalcy of it reassuring and assertive.

If Danny hadn't been lounging on her bed when she came out she might have been alright. But he was, and she wasn't, and the scream was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She couldn't see him as he was, tired but unhurt, eyes a lazy green and completely relaxed. All she could see was shadows, the cotton top of the Circus Gothika, a hooded cloak and his eyes shining red as he cut the wire from beneath her.

_How should I scare you?_ It echoed, as did the scream.

Startled, Danny jerked upright, his eyes widening as he regarded her in worry. Before she could stop herself, Sam's gaze flickered away from his, unable to will herself to meet his eyes. But not before he caught a glimpse of her unadulterated fear as she fought to keep herself from recoiling.

"Sam?" his voice was soft as he rose, approaching her. He sounded genuinely scared.

She lowered herself to the ground, withdrawing into a fetal position as she pulled the bathrobe closer around her form. Sam knew that she was being irrational; Danny's eyes had been green. There was no reason for them to be any other color, not since Freakshow's staff had been destroyed more than three years ago. It had been nothing more than the ill luck that they were so accustomed to that Danny had chosen this night to show, when she had worked so hard all this time to keep her fear hidden from him. Danny didn't need another burden on his shoulders.

He was by her side in a heartbeat, eyes worried and pulling Sam up to him. All the girl could do was chant, "Don't touch me, don't hurt me, don'ttouchmedon'thurtme," till it was a mantra that he could barely understand.

She shook in his arms, eyes closed and arms wrapped about herself. As much as Sam wanted to get away from him she simply couldn't. Couldn't move, but even more couldn't bear to think of Danny seeing her like this, for all of her attempts at hiding it to fail so miserably. Oh god, she didn't want him to know how badly she was afraid of him—how much she'd feared him and his ghost since the night he'd nearly killed her.

"Sam," he tried again, his fingers gently rubbing away the fresh sheen of sweat on her forehead as he drew her closer to him. "It's okay. I'm here now."

How was he to know that his very presence elicited her darkest fears?

Her body went rigid in his grasp, a myriad of conflicting emotions pouring through her mind. This was what she had hoped for, wanted for so long, to be pressed against him in an act of intimacy that she never would've had the guts to initiate thanks to the nightmares that plagued her. Sam couldn't even bear to imagine what would happen if she awoke from the recurring nightmare, only to find the object of her terror sharing her bed.

"Leave me alone," she managed out, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Please."

"Sam, talk to me, tell me what's wrong," he pleaded, breath warm across her skin and completely at odds with the cold of his skin. His fingers tightened on her and after three years it was more than she could take.

She struggled away, arms flailing as she tried, one elbow hitting his nose and starting blood flowing. "Don't touch me," she breathed for a moment, then the last of her control broke. "Get away from me!"

Lights flicked on in the hall a heartbeat after her shrill cry as Sam pressed herself again the wall, tears streaking her face as she buried her face against it and away from Danny. She couldn't look at him, couldn't see the hurt on it, the fear, couldn't see it the way she remembered: dark and vicious and red eyes staring balefully at her.

Her door swung in, her mother first in and her father following with a baseball bat. She was reminded so forcibly of Jack Fenton that Sam nearly choked on the laugh that threatened to tear from her throat. She couldn't let it, didn't dare let it; Sam was terribly afraid that if it did come it might not stop, so hysterical did she feel.

And Danny was gone, just her parents asking what was wrong, and Sam with no answer. It was over, he was gone, he wasn't touching her. But somehow Sam was sure the real nightmare had just begun.

xXx

The wind tore at his vision, fat droplets of hybrid blood dripping from his injured nose as he fled Manson Estate, never once daring to look back. He knew that he should have stayed. Sam was in no condition to look after herself, and it wasn't as though her parents would ever be able to understand her. But her rejection had been more than he could bear. Sam had already made it more than clear that she most certainly did not need him.

Danny was beginning to think that he had started taking too many liberties lately. She had been shocked at his presence, screaming when she first laid eyes on him. And why shouldn't she be? What gave him the right to invade her privacy and crawl into her bed at some ungodly hour in the morning seeking respite from ghost hunting? He was a guy, and she was the woman he loved, not that had ever meant anything to her. It wasn't appropriate for him to show up out of the blue in her bedroom uninvited. He only wished that she could've told him sooner how unsettled his over familiarity had made her feel.

Oh god, and when he had embraced her. Danny grimaced, causing the dried, flaking blood running down the bottom half of his face to crack. He never should have allowed himself that indulgent moment. Sam was not his; nor had he ever dared to stake any claim on her. Danny knew that he had no right to touch her, to hold her as he had. But he hadn't been able to help himself. His strong, fiery Sam had appeared so small, so vulnerable that he couldn't bear to stand by helpless and watch her suffer.

Not that she was helpless, he knew as his nose gave another throbbing stab of pain. He took the time to land on top of one of the buildings downtown, halfway between her house and his, to examine the damage she had done him. It was broken, there was no question. Danny's eyes nearly crossed as his fingers lightly brushed the swollen appendage. Oh yes, most definitely broken.

Much as he hated to say it, it simply wasn't something he was equipped to deal with himself. Sam—his jaw clenched at the thought of her name making his nose stab him again in the face—was his usual nurse, since Tucker would pass out at the mere thought of needles and doctoring his wounds. And Sam, well, she hated him. So emergency room it was.

It was a short flight, very short, and his face was suitably horrific looking to get him right in. not that there was a crowd, anyway, but Danny was just relieved not to have to wait. His explanation had gone over well enough.

"I was mugged. They stole my cash, took my watch, broke my nose."

It should have been good. Should have been great. But he was seventeen, and he'd been attacked, and he needed an adult to sign the insurance papers and to hold his hand while the police asked questions. So Danny did the only thing he could do: he called Jazz and thanked god that she was only interning a few hours away.

She had come as soon as she had heard, the last of his words barely out of his mouth before she had hung up on him, tossing the phone onto the sofa of her apartment as she sprinted towards her car. Knowing his sister, Jazz had probably automatically assumed that the incident had been ghost related, and that her little brother needed all the help that he could get.

A bitter chuckle escaped the halfa's lips. He had managed to fend off confessing to Jazz the humiliating truth for now: that she had come up to his aid, driving at breakneck speed through the middle of the night only to discover that all that she was needed for was to sign a couple of papers and nurse an injured nose that had been broken not in a ghost fight, but when his crush had rejected him. The life of an intern was hard enough. Jazz sure as hell didn't need his petty troubles to add to her worries. Well, he supposed, if it was any consolation at least he had given his sister ample opportunity to test out the radar deflector that Tucker had built to help her avoid tickets on nights like this.

Before he knew it the police had come round, asking him to describe his assailant. He ignored Jazz's look of worry and confusion as he proceeded to provide a rather bland and perhaps uncannily accurate description of Vlad, considering he was only meant to have seen him for a couple of seconds. But Danny didn't care. Maybe if he got his way for once, his arch nemesis would end up being in as deep shit as he was. Somehow, he doubted it.

Despite everything that had happened, Danny's thoughts weren't really on any of it as he left the hospital, trailing Jazz to her car. He'd tamped Sam into the back of his mind; to think of her was to invite pain, anguish, regret. Besides, he had more important things to figure out—like how to explain the bandage on his nose and rapidly blackening eyes to either side. And why he hadn't called them, but had called Jazz.

In short, he was a dead man. He snorted a laugh and then gasped in pain as his nose reminded him it had been forcibly unaligned and then realigned in the last four hours. Sam would sure be pleased if he was out of the picture—and what had he done for her to—there were no words for it. Rejection just wasn't strong enough. This time Danny couldn't stop the pain that welled.

To drown it out, he rambled.

"Thanks for coming Jazz, I don't know what I would have done without you, and god, what am I going to tell Mom and Dad? They're so gonna kill me. I mean, I got my nose busted and then I didn't even call them and it'll be like total rejection," he stumbled over the word but kept his stream of thought going, "and that really wasn't what I was thinking but sometimes these things happen and they just wouldn't get it, you know? So I called you and wow, Tucker's radar deflector sure worked if you made it here that quick, are you sure you didn't get a ticket? Maybe we could get him to do some more customizing on your car and—"

"Danny."

He stopped dead at the end of her car, words dying into silence and eyes darting away from Jazz's.

"Danny, what the hell happened?"

xXx

Jazz had known that he was hiding something. From the insecure, almost moronic way that Danny had been rambling mere moments ago, to the way that her little brother had frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights when she had confronted him about the situation. This wasn't like him. He had promised her years ago that there would be no secrets between them. Especially where ghost hunting was concerned, and Jazz knew that Danny kept his promises, even if it killed him.

"Danny," she pressed the issue. "Who broke your nose? It wasn't Vlad, was it?" she raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the rear view mirror as he grimaced. "You might've fooled the police, but there's no way that you could've expected that to fool me."

"I wasn't," he protested defensively. "I promised you. No secrets between us. Ever."

"Well?" Jazz prompted expectantly.

"It wasn't ghost related," the half ghost muttered. "I'm sorry that I made you worry."

"It wasn't?" his sister's astonishment was rapidly replaced by anger. "Then who did this to you? You never told me that those jocks were still giving you trouble," her eyes narrowed angrily. "If that Baxter kid did this to you, I swear to god I'll-"

"It wasn't Dash," he provided, pausing momentarily in an attempt to calm his sister. "He and his cronies have pretty much left me along since the start of junior year."

"Then who was it?" Jazz demanded angrily. "And if it wasn't ghost related, what the hell was Danny Fenton doing getting beat up at two in the morning? Danny, what's been going on since I left? Mom and Dad are going to kill you."

"God, Jazz. Would it hurt for you to just to trust me?" Danny's irritability flared. "It was Sam," he admitted softly, as his revelation was met with stunned silence. "She's the one who broke my nose."

"Sam? Sam Manson?" Jazz asked him, not wanting to believe what she'd heard. But when her little brother's eyes dropped and tension ran across his shoulders and up his neck, she knew that he'd really said it, and really meant it.

"Yeah, Sam," he said softly. "Look, can you just take me home? I'd like to get death over with." He sidled up the passenger side of the car as she continued to stare at him, mumbling, "It's gotta be better than this."

It didn't take a brilliant mind to figure out that she wasn't supposed to hear that, but Jazz didn't say anything as she slid into the car with Danny, cranking it up but not putting it into gear. "Danny, talk to me," she ordered him, voice gentle and pleading, but an order without doubt. Jazz didn't expect to work, and wasn't surprised when he didn't say anything, just stared resolutely into the darkness. So the last thing she expected, as her hand rested on the emergency break, her fingers reached for the switch to turn on her headlights, was for Danny to talk.

"I was out on patrol," he began, toneless and still. "When I was done I stopped by her house like I always do. She was in the shower and every light was burning. I was tired, I wanted to see her. So I hung around."

His head lowered now, and Jazz looked away. Danny had always been such a sensitive boy, even as a small child. When she was younger Jazz had often had to play devil's advocate to get him to open up to her, even more so when the ghosts came and Phantom, too. But this was unlike anything she'd ever had to do, because for the first time her brother's heart was fully vested in the nightmare he was living. It wasn't friends, it wasn't family, it was the girl that she knew he loved.

"I scared her," he admitted, his voice hoarse, eyes closed. "I don't know how, if it was just because I was there or not, but she freaked. I tried to—" He stopped and Jazz knew that he'd tried to comfort Sam and didn't want to admit it. "She freaked out worse. She, ah, she hit me. She screamed at me not to touch her, to get away from her."

He stopped for a moment, shifting in the seat and turning to stare out the window so she couldn't see his face. Shrugging, he said, "So I did."

"Let some rest," Jazz's face was stony. "I'll have a talk with her tomorrow."

xXx

Jazz was the last person Tucker would've expected to receive a call from bright and early on a Saturday morning, yawning out a greeting, much to his mortification later. According to his crush, the events of the previous night had left Danny shaken to the extent that she had been forced to drive home to help him deal with it.

Questioning Jazz about what had actually happened, or why Danny hadn't turned to him or Sam as his usual first port of call had gotten him nothing but assurances that the incident hadn't been ghost related, which was some measure of comfort, he supposed. Nevertheless, Tucker couldn't help but feel a little hurt that she hadn't chosen to confide in him.

So Tucker did what any best friend would do- he did as Jazz had asked. And the fact that everyone knew that when Jazz Fenton crooked a finger, Tucker Foley jumped had nothing to do with it, of course.

To Tucker's immense disappointment, by the time he arrived at Fenton Works, Jazz had already gone, to take care of 'important business' of some sort, according to Mrs. Fenton. She had whisked him upstairs to see Danny straightaway, saying something that he couldn't quite comprehend about telling Danny to postpone taking his painkillers because they made him too woozy to be proper company. What she had actually said didn't quite register in Tucker's mind until he found himself face to face with the bandages adorning his best friend's nose.

"Hey," Danny greeted him awkwardly, his voice somehow managing to be nasal and hoarse at the same time. "Jazz said that you were on your way."

"Dude," Tucker's jaw dropped. "What happened to you?"

"I made a mistake," the halfa grimaced, sitting upright in bed. "And I paid for it."

"Some mistake," Tucker whistled. "Who did this to you? They didn't do a bad job, considering nowadays even ghosts don't get near enough to throw a punch before you waste them."

"I don't want to talk about it," Danny scowled. "I just got my ass handed to me. Can we just drop the subject?"

"I'm just saying," Tucker raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "And as your best friend, isn't there some male code of honor that we're meant to hunt him down and beat the shit out of him?"

"But I don't want revenge," the dark haired boy mumbled morosely, looking truly dejected.

"Why not?" his best friend replied, astounded. "The bastard _broke your nose_, Danny. If you're not going to hunt him down, then I will. What're you and Jazz being so secretive about, anyhow?" Tucker continued, "and why didn't you let me and Sam know that something was wrong before making Jazz leave town? We could've done something to help you."

"Don't," Danny's expression was pained. "Don't say her name, please," he repeated softly.

"Sam?" Tucker pressed. "Why not? What happened between you two? Even if you two are in the middle of a fight, she would've wanted to know what happened. She cares about you, Danny. We both do."

"No," the halfa's reply was curt. "She doesn't."

"What are you talking about?" Tucker was stunned. "Of course she does. We always knew that you were clueless, but this is just—"

"Stop lying for her, Tucker," Danny roared. "You have no idea what happened last night."

"Maybe I would," despite himself, the techno geek found himself raising his voice, "if you'd just fucking tell me what's going on."

"It has nothing to do with you," Danny growled. "Just stay out of my business."

"Why don't you want to let Sam know what's going on?" Tucker demanded. "You're being an ass."

A staring match ensued, but Tucker didn't even need to meet his best friend's eyes to see how torn up Danny was over the incident that he refused to divulge. To Tucker's immense surprise, Danny was the first to look away, tearing his vision from Tucker's and staring pointedly at his shoes as though he was about to cry. It was almost as though he had been shaken to the extent that he had lost his strength of character. But as far as Tucker knew, the only person capable of breaking him so utterly was—

"Get out of my room," Danny's voice was rough.

"Fine," Tucker replied shortly, subjecting his best friend to a glare before turning to leave. "But you're not off the hook just yet."

As much as Tucker hated it, he had to acknowledge that you had to pick your battles carefully, especially where an agitated half ghost was concerned. The techno geek knew that he wasn't going to get anything else out of Danny in his current state, leaving him with no choice but to go over to Sam's and tell her what had transpired. Perhaps then, together they could shed some light on the cause of Danny's abrupt depression.

xXx

The thought of confessing her need for therapy to her parents entertained Sam for all of two minutes. Two minutes where she realized that one, no credible psychiatrist would ever believe her without the entire true, two, that if she ever confessed the truth about Danny Phantom the entire world would know and hunt for him till he was dead, and three, the entire world would fail because her father would kill him.

It wasn't very comforting.

She spent the rest of the night curled beneath three blankets, with every light in her room on, and her parents checking on her every half hour, more worried than Sam had ever seen them. But she'd screamed, been hysterical when they found her, and there had been blood. It wasn't hers, she knew that, and they knew it. But there was still blood. It made Sam's stomach twist to know that it had to be Danny's, made her entire body shudder when she closed her eyes and that blood was still there, bright and vivid and staring with a scythe behind closed lids.

Morning came with no sleep and Sam stayed huddled in her bed when her mother popped in before eight to announce breakfast. Her stomach was still too unsettled and sore to eat, and the fear of having to face Danny was getting worse. She couldn't tell him, there was no way she could explain it without making him hate himself. She didn't hate him, Sam never hated him, except when she did. But when she did it wasn't him, it was that _other_. And _he_ scared her.

So when a soft knock brought Jazz Fenton into her room some time after the smells of breakfast faded, Sam couldn't help but be surprised. She had no way of knowing what Jazz was seeing: a Sam Manson who looked frightened and tired and utterly, utterly small.

The hard retort that had been just about to escape Jazz's lips dissolved; Sam could tell by the way that Danny's sister's mouth had opened a fraction of an inch, before she licked her lips and pursed them awkwardly, seemingly taken aback. To be perfectly honest, Sam wished that Jazz hadn't the heart to grant her this unwarranted sympathy. She deserved to be raged at for what she'd done to Danny. She had hurt him. That much was evident from the way that he had looked at her before he fled.

For the first time in years, Sam had been glad of her parents' presence. They had spooked Danny into leaving her alone. After all, there was no point pretending that she could have even begun to salvage the situation. When she had found him in her bedroom, she had been so far past it that any form of rational thought was beyond her. So how was she meant to comfort Danny when she hadn't even been capable of comforting herself? Even now, the thought of confronting him made her knees weak, both with fear and shame for her actions.

Even so, she needed to be the first to speak, to take control of the situation. That Jazz was here only meant one things: that Danny had called her. Sam swallowed convulsively at the thought. She must have hurt him very badly for him to call Jazz and drag her back to Amity Park. He would have told his sister, too, Sam knew. The… situation, she decided was the best word. Yes, the situation was too volatile, and he'd ask for her help.

"What are you doing here?" It was more hoarse than Sam expected, but she supposed it couldn't be helped after a night of screaming nightmares and crying jags that lasted for hours at a go.

Jazz stared at her for a moment and in the brief span Sam found herself suddenly wanting to yell at Danny's sister. She'd come, no doubt, to condemn Sam for her treatment of Danny (and she should) but how could she just stare at her? Could Jazz see the broken places in her, pick each of them out just to rub them in, to show how confident and sure Jazz was with herself, how sane she was? Sam's fingers tightened on the blanket she was wrapped in, and she found herself swallowing the screams down and turning her face from Jazz's.

There was no way that she couldn't. Jazz was far too intelligent not to, and a psychiatrist, no less. From Danny's story and her reaction, his sister had probably figured it out, by now. So why wasn't she saying anything? Sam knew that the blame lay entirely with her. She had been selfish; too caught up in her own nightmarish fear to call after him as he had retreated. Even in that instant, despite her hysteria, she had known that something in Danny had broke, something that made his broken nose seem trivial in consequence.

"I'm here to talk," Jazz began gently, her previous fury gone. "He's fine, by the way," she added, biting her lip. "A little woozy from the painkillers, but fine. It won't be long before that nose is good as new."

"That's... good," Sam offered awkwardly, at loss for what to say. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to be telling this to," Jazz shook her head. "Normally, I wouldn't dream of infringing upon your privacy," a faint trace of her anger returned, and if Sam was even a fraction less practiced at reading faces, she would've missed the subtle glint in Jazz's eyes. "But I know that my little brother's involved in whatever's got you so freaked. He deserves to know," she finished firmly, "you hurt him, Sam, and he deserves to know why."

She nearly broke right then, because she knew that Jazz was right. And yet, Sam couldn't bear the thought of telling Danny that it was his fault, that she was afraid of him, that she'd been turned into this quivering piece of girl by something that had happened years ago, taken less than a minute. A single minute and her life had changed, and it was his fault. Resolutely Sam lowered her eyes, pulled the blanket tighter about her and hardened herself.

"No. He doesn't."

xXx

Tucker couldn't remember ever being as angry as he was now. He was furious, righteously so, ready to take aim at the first _thing_ to cross his path. He had the Fenton lipstick. Hell, he'd carried one of Maddie Fenton's ectoguns since he was fifteen. This was the first time in his life he'd ever itched to use it, to cause random destruction and wreak havoc for the sake of chaos itself. He just wanted to be violent, but at the moment there was no one to be violent to.

He'd settle for answers, he decided as he cut through Sam's own backyard and around to the front door, pausing only long enough to pound on the front door and kick it twice when the knocks weren't answered in 0.02 nanoseconds. If he admitted the truth, it was nice thinking that he'd been beating the hell out of Danny and his stubborn pride—but Danny had obviously already gone a few rounds with someone. He didn't need it again. Even if he _was_ being a stupid, prideful, masochistic jerk.

That left Tucker with the option of Sam's mother answering the door and glaring at him like he was the antichrist dropped fresh on her stoop. "What could you possibly have to say to her?" was the only comment Mrs. Manson made before Tucker pushed past her with a vicious smile that made the woman startle back a step. It did little to relieve his mounting testosterone, but for the moment, Tucker didn't care.

He was already in trouble with one woman of the Manson household, he thought grimly as he tackled the stairs three at a time as he rammed open her bedroom door, bursting into Sam's room without knocking. How much more trouble could he possibly be in? Scary as Sam was, pissing off a parental was still by far less advised.

The last thing he would have ever expected was Sam, curled up in a corner of her bed, barely occupying a quarter of it as she hid beneath the covers, soft sobs wracking her form. Truth be told, if not for the fact that Tucker was one of the few people that had ever seen Sam cry, he might've missed her soft, intermittent gasps.

Tucker hunched his shoulders, doubling over to catch his breath as he clutched at a stitch that he hadn't even realized had formed at his side, his ire at Danny and aggressive tendencies ebbing away as he began to fully comprehend the spectacle before him. His jaw dropped; the techno geek's previous emotions were replaced almost immediately by worry and concern.

She started as the force of his attack on her bedroom door sent it ramming into her wall, the noise from the impact causing a small scream to leave her lips in fright. Something was not right, Tucker's brow furrowed in concern as he met her eyes. Sam had always been the strong one, the sensible one. She had never, as long as either of them had known her, been timid. So what in god's name could've transpired within the past twenty-four hours to bring about this change?

"What the hell happened?" he asked, blurting the first thing that came to mind. "Has the world gone completely mad?" He paused for a moment, waiting for something, anything from the pale girl, but she only stared at him, not yelling or demanding answers, just letting silent tears trickle down her cheeks from red-rimmed eyes. "Okay, so maybe I should trade my PDA in for a helmet and pads?"

She was still silent, almost wary. It made Tucker suppress a shudder to see her like that, and he continued on as he'd meant to start, albeit less angry. "I just thought you'd like to know someone beat the hell out of Danny and broke his nose."

Then Tucker saw the way her eyes flinched, the tightening skin around her mouth, and the anger came back to well beneath the surface of skin.

"Except you already know that, don't you?"

His voice was like ice, cold and dripping with rage and hurt. He wanted to yell again, to hurt, but the way Sam trembled in her corner of that big bed made him contain that part. Not the hurt, no, not the hurt. He'd come to talk to her, to find out what was wrong with Danny, _tell_ her what he knew was wrong, get his best friend reassurance that his other best friend still cared as deeply as Tucker believed. And instead he found himself locked into some sort of twisted conspiracy that settled itself in a broken nose and a weeping girl.

"Don't you, Sam?" he pressed the issue, more gently than he would've liked, although more than a trace of roughness remained. But it was obvious that in her current state, it wouldn't take much more to push Sam until she broke, something that Tucker had never expected to have to deal with, ever.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam's response was terse, with more aggression in it than he would've thought possible, when her apparent distress and puffy eyes were taken into consideration.

"No one does," Tucker growled in reply, frustration evident. "Goddammit, Sam! What are both of you hiding from me? I know the two of you don't have to tell me everything," he continued, his voice rising. "And I respect that, especially when it involves the way you feel about each other. But you can't keep me in the dark about something like _this_. What the _hell_ happened between you two?" he demanded. "I'm sick of being fucking left out all the time."

"We're not leaving you out on purpose," Sam pleaded softly, her silent tears streaming down her face. "It just doesn't concern you. Please, just leave."

"Like hell it doesn't concern me," Tucker roared. "My best friend is beyond depressed, moping in his room with a broken nose, pumped on enough painkillers to sedate a bull, while my _other_ best friend's obviously spent the last couple of hours crying about it for reasons that no one will divulge."

"Please," the Goth whimpered. "Don't do this. Dealing with Jazz was bad enough."

"Jazz was here?" Tucker blinked in surprise, Sam's revelation sufficient to throw him off guard. "Where is she now?"

"Gone," Sam whispered, as though the mere memory of her presence pained her.

"Where?" he queried, probably more forcefully than he should have.

"I don't know," she replied meekly. "We didn't part on good terms, either."

"Does she know what's going on?" he asked.

"No," Sam shook her head. "I didn't tell her either."

Tucker exhaled, nostrils flaring as he rearranged his beret. "This is hopeless, Sam. _You_ are hopeless," he spat at her, anger welling back up as he realized that they all knew, except for him. Even for his perfectly wonderful Jazz, who'd only talked to him long enough to get him to try and snap Danny out of his depression—and then she just left. "Fuck this. I'm done."

He froze as he saw new tears in her eyes, the slack way she stared at him. Then guilt rose as she whispered, "Just leave, Tucker. Just leave." So he did.

xXx

_She was whimpering and Danny's heart ached as he reached for her. It was soft, faint, but he could still hear her pleading, face buried against her arms. "Don't touch me, don't hurt me." It was killing him to hear it; he reached for her, needing to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be alright._

_The second his hand brushed skin, though, she pulled away and screamed, eyes wide and staring at him, fear, terror, wide in them. "Don't touch me!"_

Danny's eyes snapped open, exactly as they'd done last night, and the night before. This time he managed to remember that his nose was broken and bandaged before he rubbed his face with a hand. Instead, he only rolled to his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him, not even moving as cold sweat slid down his forehead to his pillow.

The same dream three nights running, and living the first. There really, was no hiding from the truth. Sam had been scared, and of him. Really, truly, terrified of _him_.

The worst part was, he didn't even know why. He couldn't even remember doing anything that would've even vaguely upset her in the slightest the past months, let alone leave her terrified of him to the extent which she was. Danny was brimming with a multitude of questions, with no means of ever getting the answers he needed, not while Sam was too afraid to even look him in the eye. Even now, even knowing where he stood with her, he could not subdue the selfish longing to pick up the phone and call her, to beg an explanation from her.

He had thought that he would always be there to protect her; to shield her with his own body, her face never leaving his thoughts with every punch he took for her, every bone he broke. But the one person he couldn't protect Sam from, let alone even die trying in the attempt, was himself. And Danny hated himself for it.

Swearing violently, he kicked the covers off his form as he made his way to the bathroom he shared with Jazz, fumbling for the light switch. He squinted, eyes barely open as his vision was abruptly flooded with light, groggily dragging himself in front of the bathroom mirror. Examining his reflection shed no light regarding the source of his anguish, and Danny didn't know whether to be concerned, or immensely relieved at the fact.

The similarities had always been there—they were, after all, the same person. But the face that he wore bore no stronger likeness to the monster that he could have become than his fourteen year old face had, baby fat and all. Perhaps his jaw line was now more pronounced, and his eyes had acquired a harder, serious edge to them, his brows set in a permanent furrow, but all Danny could surmise was that he looked older. Just older, and still nothing like him. So what had Sam seen that night that had made her lash out and recoil in utter fear?

If it wasn't his future, then it was him. _Just_ him, and Danny recoiled from the reflection. Hatred twisted his face as his fist lashed out to land a hard, telling blow turning the silvered glass to nothing more than a pile of shards. The backing of it was driven into the wall with such force that plaster and the edge of a support beam cracked beneath his fist, sending pain shooting up his arm from his hand. The wall shook and plaster coated his hand as Danny pulled it back, not even noticing that the third finger was bent to the left or that his first knuckle was oddly flat.

Danny didn't even notice when the bathroom door slammed inward, or the fact that as Jazz demanded what he'd done, what did he do, and what had he done to himself, that there were tears streaming down his face. He should have, as hot as they were, with the way they blurred his vision, but the hundreds of scattered pieces of himself across the bathroom floor and hanging from the mirror's frame only made him feel more sick. A bug's eye view, twisted and distorted. Maybe that was something like what Sam had seen to make her hate him so?

He was only vaguely aware of the mild stings as he tread on the glass peppering the floor, of his sister shaking him hard by the shoulders, saying his name and demanding that he answered her over and over again, lost in the an insurmountable surge of despair and self loathing.

Sam feared and despised him. Not for what he would become, but for who he was, what he would always be. In his irrationality, Danny was beginning to come to some convoluted understanding that her fear had been inevitable right from the start- that he had always been doomed to lose the girl that he loved so fiercely, no matter the choices that he made.

He staggered backwards, more out of sheer surprise than actual physical hurt, when he finally connected the sharpness of a blow to his cheek to the movement of Jazz's hand, to the resounding smack that seemed to echo hollowly inside his head. Was his sister rejecting him as well?

"I'm sorry," Danny flinched as Jazz brought the same hand that she had struck him with back to his face, starting as she ruffled his hair with surprising gentleness. "You were hysterical," if not for the fact that Jazz was his sister, Danny would've missed the faint underlying tremor puncturing the calmness of her tone.

His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, Jazz cradling her head in his lap in a manner that she hadn't since they were children, whispering soothing words of comfort as he wept, ignoring her gentle suggestion that he perhaps should shift his glass studded form to lay on the towel she had laid out on the floor for him to lie on to prevent further injuries.

"What in god's name is going on?" their mother demanded as she entered the lighted bathroom, flanked by their father.

Danny didn't even bother trying to answer, he merely closed his eyes and wished it would all just end.

xXx

The fact that Tucker Foley had left her to stand on his doorstep for more than ten minutes was really pissing Jazz off. His mother had answered and had gone to get him, and Jazz had more manners than to pound on the door like a lunatic, but she was coming very close to calling him ten kinds of idiot if he thought ignoring her would make her go away. After all, it wasn't like she was the one who had booted him from the Fenton's house—not in the least.

Danny might be an ass at the moment (a very disturbed and depressed ass who was currently under sedation in the hospital with two broken knuckles, one dislocated finger, fractures to half of his carpals and one metacarpal that was completely snapped—and that was without thinking about the stitches that made his hand look like Frankenstein's) but Jazz was rather fond of his best friend. She wouldn't have kicked Tucker out.

And here the little bastard was making her wait. It took another two minutes for her to get fed up enough to raise her fist to the door to knock again, until it swung inward to show Tucker's scowling face. His glasses were crooked, and his beret was missing, and the anger and hurt was so uncharacteristic that it made Jazz's heart stutter as she looked at him.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Like her little brother's deteriorating mental state over having been assaulted by the woman he loved, and how an obviously distressed Sam had for some reason chosen to cloister herself off instead of letting Jazz in to help her. Sam was afraid—you didn't need a major in Psychology to work that much out.

Thankfully, Jazz had been able to fend off the parents, for now. Desperate to escape Maddie's thorough questioning, Danny had simply pleaded that he had not been himself, that he had no idea what came over him. After which, all that was required of Jazz was a few choice words to point their parents in the direction that Danny had acted the way that he had because he had been overshadowed, to throw them off the trail temporarily.

But she knew that she couldn't keep this up. Especially if Danny decided to become more self-destructive. It was about time that somebody told her what was going on. And if neither of the perpetrators were willing, she would piece together the details of this nightmarish mess with Tucker's help, no matter how foul his mood.

"J-jazz," Tucker was the first to break the silence, gazing open-mouthed at her in pure astonishment, and Jazz would not hesitate to admit that she was glad Tucker appeared back to normal. "I thought that you'd left Amity last night."

"Left Amity?" Jazz frowned quizzically, silently relieved that the typical dynamics between them had returned. "Why would I do that?"

"But Sam said—never mind," he sighed. "What brings you here so early, anyhow? And sorry about just now," the techno-geek winced sheepishly. "I thought that you were Danny. How's he doing, anyhow?"

"He's in the hospital again with a fractured hand and a broken finger," Jazz's tone was dry. Sometimes, to keep yourself sane, all you could do was find humor in the most impossible situations. "Nothing serious."

"You're fucking kidding me," Tucker began incredulously, then flushed as he remembered whose company he was in, shooting Jazz an apologetic look for his language. "What the hell—what happened?"

"I am afraid that I kid you not," the solemnity of Jazz's previous expression returned. "I couldn't really get much out of him without Mom and Dad overhearing," her brows furrowed in frustration, "But he wasn't really up for talking, anyway. From what I gather, he was having a nightmare, dragged himself to the bathroom, freaked out and tried to deck his own reflection," Jazz grimaced. "Hence the new injuries."

"Have you figured out what happened between those two?" Tucker queried.

Jazz shook her head. "I don't have a clue, and that's saying a lot," she said, annoyed.

Tucker stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. "Mom and Dad are in the living room; we can talk safely upstairs." He flushed as she arched a brow at him, but then Jazz gave him a smile and went ahead. She'd been to his room before, but the last time he'd still been an unassuming fifteen-year-old, and he was still chasing anything in a skirt. Or with microchips.

Once they were safely inside, door closed and Tucker sprawled across his bed as she took the only chair in the room (and blocked his way to his computer so she could have his full attention), Jazz looked at him point blank and said, "Sam broke his nose. She's terrified of him. I don't know what happened. Now tell me what you know."

Tucker's once languid sprawl brought him upright, tension coiling his body as he stared at Jazz incredulously. "_Sam_ broke his nose?"

Jazz nodded solemnly, and waited for the rest of the explosion that was sure to come out of the boy. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd grown up with him and Danny and their ghost fighting, she might have been afraid. As it was, she still twitched when he brought himself to his full height, but mostly from annoyance. Jazz hated having to crane her neck to look up at her father, hated it even more to look up at her brother, though he was only a little over six feet. Tucker was a damned giant and she just _despised_ having to stare up at him as he paced.

"Tucker, sit," she all but snarled, Jazz's own temper finally beginning to crack. "I'm missing school, my brother is a depressed mess, _Sam_ is all but unreachable, and I am _not_ going to be staring up at the clouds while you pace. So SIT!"

With a sheepish grin Tucker dropped back down to his bed and then met Jazz's eyes. "So you saw Sam?" When she nodded and waited he pursed his lips. "Sam wouldn't hurt Danny. This doesn't make any sense."

"Since when does anything in Danny's life make sense?" Jazz shot at him sourly.

"Point taken," he acceded, and Jazz watched him carefully as his green eyes went blank and distant.

Jazz had spent days thinking about it, ever since she'd been to see the younger woman, but nothing Jazz could come up with was making any sense. From what she knew of her own brother, and of the girl he was in love with, this kind of disaster was so low in the odds of happening that Jazz herself had never thought of it. And that really was saying a lot, because when Jazz wasn't studying till her eyes crossed, she was still running herself ragged trying to make sure that the mental health of Team Phantom was sound. Well, as sound as it could be with the three of them risking their lives daily and one already half dead.

She was still thinking hard when Tucker jerked himself out of his silence, his face drawn and angry and pale, even under his coffee dark skin. He had thought of something, and Jazz was positive she didn't want to know what it was. But she had to ask, there was no way she couldn't.

"What is it, Tucker?"

He shook his head. "We have to talk to Sam. Come on." Without another word he grabbed his beret and she followed him.

xXx

Somehow, it seemed so much longer ago than yesterday when Tucker had been charging down these yards in a fit of testosterone fuelled rage, determined to get to Sam's house if it killed him. Today, the objective remained the same, regardless of the fact that he was dragging Jazz behind him as he haphazardly dodged people and objects, ignoring her protests to slow down before he wrenched her arm off. Under normal circumstances, holding Jazz Fenton's hand alone would've brought about much unwanted awkwardness on Tucker's part, let alone his almost barbaric behavior in her presence. But none of this mattered now; their primary concern was reaching Sam.

Tucker hoped he was wrong. God, he hoped that he was wrong. The very notion made him sick to his stomach. But there weren't very many things Danny was capable of that would invoke such abject fear in Sam. He hated to think that Danny could, but this? This was the most likely of them all. And if he was wrong, all was well, or as good the current situation could ever hope to get, and he and Jazz could forget his outburst had ever happened. But if he was right...Tucker's fist clenched in mordant anticipation. If his suspicions proved true, then Danny Fenton was going to regret ever touching Sam.

He let Jazz handle the niceties at the door this time; god alone knew if he'd be able to restrain himself sufficiently from yelling at Mrs. Manson. Sam's mother had subjected him to a deprecatory look, but Jazz had deftly dealt with her disgruntlement with a well-placed compliment regarding the immaculate state of the lawn, ensuring him passage to Sam's room. He brushed past her without a word of greeting, Jazz in his wake as he tackled the steps two at a time.

This time, upon reaching Sam's bedroom door, he knocked despite his impatience. After all that she had been through, this simple courtesy was the least that she deserved. Sam's eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door to receive them, and Tucker couldn't even begin to describe how relieved he was to note that her eyes were no longer red-rimmed, nor were her cheeks tear-stained.

"Sam," he began, as she promptly shut the door in their faces. "I'm sorry for yesterday," he continued hurriedly, slipping his fingers in the crack of the door to keep it open, peering in to regard her. "I shouldn't have said those things. I was a jerk."

"I'm sorry, too," Jazz added imploringly. "Please, Sam, can't we talk about this?"

Tucker damn near sighed in relief as the pressure on his fingers ceased, and Sam allowed him to push the door open the rest of the way. The Goth made herself comfortable on her bed, raising an eyebrow at the pair. While Sam hadn't necessarily invited them in, she hadn't told them to leave, either. And Tucker wasn't about to give up that liberty. He settled himself on the floor, abruptly feeling small. He had no idea how he was going to tackle the situation with delicacy, let alone at all.

Sam eyed them from the bed, and Tucker forced his face into blankness. Scowling at her wouldn't help. Her shoulders were slumped and she was wearing faded old sweats. As much improved as she looked, Tucker couldn't help but see that Sam was still nowhere near as well as he'd first assumed. She hadn't been trying, true, but it looked like she hadn't been doing much else either. For all that it was clean, her hair was limp and her bangs did their best to hide her eyes, and her skin was paler than was normal, cheeks sunken and eyes hollow. She looked like she hadn't been eating or even sleeping. Give what Tucker feared, he didn't expect otherwise.

"There's nothing to talk about," Sam started, her voice faint and her words near stumbling as she said that.

"Please don't lie to us, Sam," Jazz said, and Tucker silently cheered her for calling Sam out so gently. "We know that something happened, something between you and Danny. It's hurting both of you. Won't you please talk to us?"

"I'm not lying!" Sam protested, but the note of dawning hysteria in her voice made Tucker's breath hitch in his chest. She was lying, and all three of them knew it. She was lying, and she was doing it to protect _him_, who'd hurt her like this.

Tucker stepped forward, one hand outstretched as if to touch the now trembling girl as she drew herself away from him. "Sam," Tucker asked. "Did Danny rape you?"

His query was met with silence, an unreadable wildness entering her eyes at his question as Sam stared at her best friend in utter shock, all color draining from her already pallid features. It was then that Tucker noticed the way that Sam clutched at her own forearm, knuckles white and shaking in a vice-like grip guaranteed to leave imprints of her chipped nails on her own flesh. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a choked sob as the dam that had been holding since before they arrived finally cracked and she burst into tears. She shook her head in distress, both hands covering her face as her second attempt at a coherent retort failed just as miserably as the first, which was enough of an answer for Tucker.

"That son of a bitch," he snarled, already out the door and starting on the stairs by the time he finished the curse.

"_Don't_," Sam finally managed, shrieking after him as she lurched forward to give chase from the corner into which she had retreated.

"Sam!" Jazz restrained her with an embrace, forcing the younger woman to slump back down onto the covers. "It's okay," she provided cautiously, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of disheveled raven hair behind Sam's ear. "We're not going to let anything else happen to you."

"He didn't," she murmured miserably into Jazz's chest, freeing herself from the other woman's grip. "Danny didn't rape me," Sam uttered fiercely, sitting upright as she regarded Jazz, her gaze hot an angry. "He would never. Everything that happened was my fault," she moaned. "All of it."

"Where are you going?" Jazz protested as Sam lunged from the bed.

"Where do you think?" Sam demanded, a glimmer of her old self returning as she faced down Jazz. "To stop Tucker."

xXx

Late, she was too late. Sam's legs moved faster but the front door was already slamming shut. She ignored her mother, who was rising from her seat in the drawing room where she was reading something. There was a piece of the girl that knew she needed to stop, to tell her mother what was going on—she owed her that much after everything that had happened in the last few days. But the larger part of Sam was well aware of the violence she'd seen on Tucker's face, and she knew exactly where he was going.

So when she hit the door running, barely pausing to fling it open and continue after Tucker, Sam was forced to come to a dead stop as she tried to figure out where he was. It wasn't until Jazz caught up with her that the answers came clear.

"Danny isn't at home," Jazz breathed out as she caught her breath from the short but desperate flight. "He's in the hospital—Tucker can't hurt him, he's in the hospital."

Sam whirled on the older woman and narrowed her eyes, whatever fear and reaction she'd been suffering through for days lifting as she took in Jazz's words. "What do you mean he's in the hospital?" Then her head turned to the left, the complete opposite direction of Danny's house, and Sam was off again, bare feet making hardly any sound against the pavement as she chased after the shadow a block down.

"Tucker!" she cried, her throat sorer now for all the crying she'd done in the last two days. "Tucker, stop! He didn't hurt me! I swear, he didn't hurt me!"

Either sound had started traveling a lot less further than she was used to, or she had well and truly lost her voice, for despite Sam's best efforts to reach Tucker, she had yet to capture his attention. She ignored Jazz's cries behind her protesting that she was barefoot, that she wasn't dressed appropriately to be hurtling down the streets like a madwoman. Her lungs were on fire; the soles of her unprotected feet had started to sting something fierce, yet Sam kept on, driven by desperation to stop Tucker from hurting the man she loved. Loved first and foremost, she realized, as the epiphany dawned. Fear was merely a secondary emotion.

The only way she'd ever catch someone six foot tall with legs twice the length of hers was if he was half as unfit as Tucker was. Then again, it probably would've helped some if she wasn't famished, or if her head wasn't spinning from lack of sleep. She was determined to stop Tucker before he reached Danny. Behind her, Jazz's yells seemed to fade, as she struggled to keep up. Just a little more—that was all she needed.

Skidding round the corner, Sam gritted her teeth as her bare feet scrapped against the bare asphalt, rubbing them raw. "Tucker!" she tried again. "Stop, please!" But it was a futile attempt, he was too far ahead and Sam had nothing left.

She was halfway to collapsing on the ground, her meager breath burning in her lungs as she leaned against a light post, when Jazz pulled up next to her and honked. Ordinarily Sam would have disdained anything to do with Danny's sister's achingly pink car—but this was too important. Besides, the fact that she was sure she was ready to faint from overexertion after what she'd been doing to her body meant that she might not even see the car long enough to get into it.

She did, however, and even as the rate of Jazz's acceleration pressed her back Sam was gratefully curling herself up into the seat, hands reaching for the thick socks and running shoes in the floorboard. The soles of her feet were bruised and scraped, blood showing in a few places, but Sam didn't pay any attention as she pulled the purple socks on and then the shoes, laces tied and knotted together in record time.

"Thanks," Sam breathed as Jazz squealed around another corner, one hand tight on the steering wheel and the other shoving a sweater at the pale girl.

"You look like hell," Jazz said bluntly. "Put this on so they don't try to admit you." She paused and Sam watched as she glanced at the speedometer and then at the street. "We're not going to beat him. He's cutting through yards."

Sam bit her lip as she pulled the sweater on and tugged her hair out of the neck to flare around her face as the wool frizzed it out. She nodded once, sharp, her eyes clearer than they had been in days. "He didn't hurt me, Jazz."

"I know," Jazz replied as Sam met her eyes in the rear view mirror. "Maybe I'm not as close to my brother as I could be, but I know that Danny would never lay a hand on you. But you have to help us, Sam," her eyes narrowed slightly, subjecting the younger woman to a significant look before her gaze returned to the road. "We're never going to be able to sort whatever happened out unless you let us in."

"Why's Danny in hospital again?" the Goth asked meekly, her eyes downcast as she ignored Jazz's request.

"He freaked out last night," Jazz divulged, her voice clipped. "Smashed the bathroom mirror, crushed his right hand."

"Oh," Sam elucidated miserably, a fresh wave of guilt gnawing at her insides. "How is he?"

"I don't know," Jazz shrugged, "I haven't been over to see him yet today. I guess it's just as well. But to be honest, his hand is the last thing that I'm worried about."

The remainder of the urgent journey passed in silence that was anything but companiable, much to Sam's anguish. Although she knew full well that Jazz wasn't necessarily angry at her, Danny's older sister's patience was rapidly fraying with Sam's pathetic attempts to sidestep her questions. And Jazz had every right to be livid. Danny was her little brother, whose face she had smashed in for reasons that she couldn't bear to divulge.

She owed them all an explanation. Despite their longstanding friendship, Sam wasn't kidding herself. She knew that Jazz was only helping her track down Tucker before he dealt Danny any more damage. Somehow, Sam was sure that they were already too late.

xXx

He'd only been admitted into the hospital officially for about twelve hours, had his room for maybe half that, but Danny was positive that Demerol was his new best friend. Between it, and his lack of sleep, he was fairly content to drift in and out of various stages of lucidity. Nothing hurt with that friendly little IV, so long as he didn't think of Sam. When he thought of her… even on the potent painkiller, the merest thought of Sam was like a knife through his heart.

But other than that he was fairly happy and drugged out.

So when the door to his cozy little room flung open to bounce off of the rubber stopper on the wall Danny could only blink and stare as Tucker stormed in. his beret was gone, his glasses were slipping down his nose, and Tucker's bottle green eyes were raging fiercely. Danny gave Tucker a goofy smile and waved his left hand, since his right was weighed down by his clean new cast. His wonderful friend, IV, wiggled precariously from his hand.

"How could you do that to her?" Tucker demanded icily. Danny blinked.

"What's the matter, Tuck?" he slurred, as the grin that he had previously worn returned. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"After what you did?" his best friend snarled.

"What did I do?" Danny frowned, perplexed. Because frowning seemed the most appropriate response in this situation. Or at least, he tried to frown. His body wasn't really working with him at the moment.

"Snap out of it," Tucker commanded, roughly shaking him as Danny's head lolled lazily to one side to match his lopsided grin. "Oh for fuck's sakes," he growled, releasing the drugged out halfa, and Danny met the hospital mattress with a dull thump, as he ripped the IV from the back of Danny's hand in a single violent motion.

"Now can you hear me?" Tucker grilled. "You'd better _fucking_ be able to hear me."

"I never have problems hearing you, Tucker," Danny rambled enthusiastically. "We're like, best friends. We'll always be."

At that point, the Demerol was still tinting his vision an amazing shade of rose that Danny hadn't seen since before he got his powers. But somehow, he couldn't quite suppress the niggling doubt at the back of his mind that this wasn't how everything was supposed to be. That something was wrong, and he was meant to be hurting to atone for what he had done.

"Focus, you son of a bitch," Tucker roared, gripping at the hospital bed railings so hard that his hands shook. "Did you rape Sam?"

It wasn't merely the drugs that kept Danny from processing what the enraged man at his bedside had said. Rape and Sam were two words that Danny had never considered together in a sentence, especially one being directed at himself. The idea of it was so farfetched that he nearly laughed, but for the sick feeling growing in his stomach. Without a constant flow of the drug, the pain was winning the battle against the incoherency.

"Is Sam alright?" Danny managed, still not quite understanding the gravity of the situation, the sheer rage on his best friend's face.

Tucker frowned at him. "You don't have the right to ask that." Danny blinked and Tucker frowned at the IV line in his hand. "You're so fucked up you can't even understand what I'm asking."

He threw the needle on the floor and headed back to the door, locking it and leaning against it to wait. "Fine, Danny. You're gonna sober up, and then I'm gonna get answers."

Perturbed by the exchange, Danny forced himself upright, leaning back against the cheap hospital pillow as he trained his shaky vision on Tucker. For some strange reason, the only expression that Tucker was wearing was one of sheer rage. Was it at him? Danny wondered, as the sick feeling in his stomach festered. It had to be. Tucker had glared at nothing but him since entering the room, and raised his voice, something that Danny had only ever seen his best friend do on a handful of occasions. And Tucker had mentioned...Danny's brow actually managed to furrow this time as he frowned, struggling with the recollection. It had been an important word, strong enough and ugly enough to mar his happily compromised senses.

Tucker had mentioned...he chewed at the inside of his lip in frustration, not noticing the pain as his teeth broke the skin and blood trickled from the wound, nor the acrid, metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He was so numb. A half growl escaped Danny's throat. Tucker had mentioned...

For the first time since awakening to find himself in this cheerfully dilapidated state, Danny clawed at the shackles restraining his mind. Sam's safety could be at stake. He had to fight this, for her. Gritting his teeth, unaware that blood had begun trickling down his chin from the wound he had just made in the interior of his cheek, he grappled at the knowledge so nearly out of sight, wrenching himself back to wakefulness. The world seemed to shift and snap around him as his consciousness regained some of its footing, the ugly word thrusting him back into reality more cruelly than being doused with ice water.

Tucker had mentioned _rape._

Rape. And Sam. Clarity came with a sudden panic as the residual ectoplasm in his blood began burning off the Demerol. If he simply focused he'd be back to normal in no time, the pain that was beginning to radiate out from his hand aside, Danny _needed_ to be normal right now, and he knew it. Focus, more focus—the effect was completely destroyed by the thudding on the door, and then Sam's and Jazz's voices from the other side.

"Tucker, let us in. Let us in _now_," his sister was ordering. Tucker only continued to lounge against the door, eyes hot and furious and glued on Danny.

"Tucker," Danny started hoarsely, pain truly beginning in his hand and nausea rising. "I—"

"Shut up," Tucker ordered him, voice cold as he thumped his heel against the door before pushing off and heading back to the bed. "Just shut the fuck up, Danny."

Panic surged through Danny. Tucker had accused him of raping Sam, really, truly believed he had. The copper taste of blood in his mouth turned Danny's stomach as he wondered, for the first time since he'd gained his powers, if it was possible for the ghost to control him. He'd been controlled before, by far the worse when Freakshow had used the stone he'd inherited on him. That had been so bad, he'd nearly hurt Sam then. The merest thought of it was enough to make Danny want to shake in disgust and revulsion.

Except Tucker was accusing him of so much worse—and Danny didn't know if it were true or not. He didn't want to believe, didn't want to even think he could hurt Sam like that. But… But she'd been so terrified of him, fought back blindly instead of with the calculating mind he knew she had. And Tucker, god, he was so sure.

Danny finally raised his eyes to meet Tucker's, and all hope bled from him in the face of Tucker's anger.

xXx

In a way, it had been a good thing that Danny had been off his face on painkillers when Tucker had first arrived. If Danny had appeared any less vulnerable Tucker wasn't sure if he would've been able to stop himself from beating the shit out of him on sight. As it was, having to wait had done Tucker some good. His rage had been allowed to simmer under control whilst he watched Danny's grasp on reality slowly return to him, as regret and understanding wracked his guilty features.

"You raped her," Tucker presented the statement to Danny in a cold tone that left no room for argument. "Why? I didn't think that you would ever sink this low. Sam would've given herself to you if you had just asked."

"I don't remember," Danny started lamely, his words still slurring as he met Tucker's gaze, his pleading features only fuelling Tucker's rage. "Any of it."

"Is that your only regret?" Tucker hissed, green eyes flashing. "That you can't remember, you sick bastard?"

"God no," Danny blanched, "Of course not. I can't have—I would never," the halfa's objections were weak and halting, as though Danny himself didn't quite believe his protests. "Sam is..." deep blue eyes clenched shut in pure anguish.

"Tucker Foley," outside, Jazz's persistent commands had yet to cease. "I demand that you open up this door this instance, or god help me, I'll—"

Tucker ignored her cries. Whatever that was going to transpire in this room was not something that Jazz needed to see, Danny's sister or not. Danny still looked like hell, and Tucker really didn't feel like being arrested for beating the hell out of Danny in the hospital. But he'd be released soon enough, and then Tucker could make sure that Danny would never forget what Tucker did when someone hurt his best friend. Until then, he could twist the knife a little deeper.

He stalked to the bed, ignoring the rattling handling and the pleading from the other side of the door. "How could you?" he ground out, hands fisted at his sides as he stared into Danny's pained blue eyes. "Some fucking hero you turned out to be. Raping your best friend? She would have gone willingly if you'd asked. She's been in love with you for years."

"Tuck, I didn't—I don't… I don't…" Danny let it trail off. Tucker watched the boy's unbroken hand clutch at his chest as though he'd lost his breath, but he steeled himself against sympathy. Danny Fenton didn't deserve any.

He cut Danny off harshly when next he tried to speak, his hand slashing through the air and making Danny wince back, his broken hand knocking the cast against the railings of the hospital bed. "I thought you were different, Danny. That you were someone decent. You son of a bitch," he spat. "Even _Vlad_ has more honor than you. At least he only tried to kill you."

Danny's mouth opened, closed, and Tucker could see his eyes going darker, the pain rising in them.

"Do you know what you did to her?" Tucker asked, leaning closer so that there was no missing the hate in his voice. "I've never seen her like this. She's so broken." His jaw clenched. "When you get out of here, I'm gonna kill you."

"It wasn't me," Danny swallowed, as the first of his tears began to fall. "I swear it. I would never hurt her—you know that."

"You disgust me," Tucker snarled, bulldozing over the halfa's protests with vicious conviction. "All these years that you've been parading over the skies of Amity, playing the hero, pretending to make an example of yourself. I can't believe that I couldn't see through your pathetic masquerade."

"It's not a masquerade," Danny parried desperately. "I hunt ghosts because I can, because it's the right thing to do. You know that, Tuck. Most of all, I hunt ghosts to protect those I care about—to protect _her._"

Tucker blinked at the outburst, taken aback by the vehemence of Danny's protests of his innocence. From the state of Danny's disheveled hair, to the gauntness of his features and the wild look of terror in his eyes, the blue eyed boy looked as though he had been through enough anguish to match Sam. Sam, Tucker hung on to that thought. He was doing this for her sake. He couldn't afford to weaken now. "I wish that I could believe you, Danny," Tucker schooled his features to cold, dispassionate blankness. "But I don't."

"Tucker Alistair Foley, I swear to god if you don't let me in I'm going to maim you in ways that no good Jewish girl should know about." The steel in Sam's voice made him pause for a moment, muffled as it was through the door. But there were only slight jiggles at the handle, metallic scrapes that weren't real attempts to get in. Tucker let it go, ignoring her thoroughly as he had Jazz.

His attention focused back on the pale boy in the bed, and Tucker frowned at the blood on Danny mouth and chin. He picked up the hospital issue Kleenex and tossed it to Danny. "You're bleeding, he said as it hit Danny in the chest.

"How long have you been lying to us?" he asked as he turned to the window. "How long have you been planning to betray her?"

"I didn't plan anything," Danny said dully from behind him.

When Tucker turned back Danny's face was buried in his hands and the tissue box was ignored. He looked so lost, his shoulders hunched and withdrawn, Tucker almost wanted to feel bad for him. But he couldn't. there was no pitying Danny Fenton, not after what he'd done to Sam, not after how he'd hurt her. There was no room for pity or compassion, only the duty to condemn him and make sure he couldn't hurt Sam—or anyone else—ever again.

"I'm going to have to turn you in to the GiW," Tucker said softly, staring at his once-best friend.

The only sound in the room was the door's handle moving and the sound of Danny's harsh breathing. When Danny looked up at him, Tucker was caught by the sheer terror and resignation in the other boy's eyes. Caught so hard that he barely even glanced over when the door suddenly swung inward to show Sam kneeling, pale and sick looking, and to let Jazz rush him and drag him out by the arm.

"Danny never laid a hand on me, Tucker," Sam gasped, her gaze flickering once to meet Danny's eyes as she forced herself to her feet. "I swear it."

"How did you two get in here?" Tucker blinked stupidly at the women; the repercussions of Sam's statement had yet to filter through to his brain.

"Picked the lock," there was a note of smugness lacing Sam's tone that she wouldn't have been capable of mere days ago, as she held up a bent hairpin. "Hospital security clearly isn't what it used to be."

"It obviously isn't," Jazz's lips pursed into a thin line, subjecting Tucker to a look of displeasure as she finally saw fit to cease restraining him. "Especially if they let _you_ through without questions. Why'd you have to be such a damned hothead and go storming off without us?"

It then that Tucker's fury blighted mind finally processed the ramifications of Sam's declaration. His eyes widened and bulged, in a manner that would have appeared almost comical if not for their current situation, as a multitude of emotions flickered across his face. "But you—then why—Sam, what the fuck is going on?" he stuttered, stumbling over his words as he glanced from Sam to Danny, and back to Sam again. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" he mumbled weakly, sinking to the floor at the foot of Danny's bed.

"I tried," Sam laughed helplessly. "But you were gone before I could get the words out."

"We came as soon as we could," Jazz supplied, her demeanor composed as she approached her brother huddled in the corner of his hospital bed, his sheets and clothes damp with intravenous fluids from the loose IV. "How are you doing?" she cautiously questioned Danny.

Danny shrugged half-heartedly, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. Abruptly, the halfa's shoulders shook with unrepressed emotion—whether it was relief that Tucker's accusation of rape had been proven false, or mixed emotions at seeing Sam for the first time since the start of this twisted, bizarre incident, Tucker didn't know, although he could probably hazard a pretty good guess that it was a mixture of the two.

In the end, Danny's only reply was a choking sob that pricked ruthlessly at Tucker's conscience.

xXx

Danny certainly wasn't doing well, but their continued presence only made it worse, so Jazz finally made an executive decision and herded Sam and Tucker out of his room before telling the nurse on duty that her brother's IV needed correcting. It was, she hoped, the best thing. The Demerol would let him rest, and hopefully a little time drugged would keep him from thinking about Sam and whatever Tucker had said to him. She knew it wasn't good because Danny hadn't said a single word before they'd left.

She brought them all to a stop outside of the hospital on a bench a few dozen yards from the entrance, letting Sam sink to the wood and Tucker follow, still completely confused.

"Sam," he asked as Jazz watched on. "What happened?"

"He didn't hurt me, I just—it was so soon. I have nightmares, I'm always falling, and he never—" Sam's breath hitched and she looked up at Tucker as he gathered her close in a hug. The secure façade she'd presented in the hospital crumbled as she tried to explain it.

The younger girl buried her face against Tucker's shirt. "He never saves me. He cuts the wire and I'm falling and he just stares at me with those horrible red eyes."

"Is this Danny we're still talking about?" Tucker asked. Jazz was completely lost—her brother wasn't evil, he'd never been evil. She could vaguely remember the happenings of the future the three friends had stopped—and nothing that had happened then had happened now.

"Yes", Sam breathed, then contradicted herself. "I mean, no, not exactly."

The manner in which Sam's shoulders shook told Jazz plainly that hysteria once again loomed. "Calm down, Sam," Jazz advised her as she sank to the bench on the other side of Sam. "You're going to have to start from the beginning. I don't know what you're talking about, and I think Tucker is just as confused."

The techno geek shook his head. "I think I get it. Sam's been having nightmares about when Danny was possessed."

"By Freakshow?" Jazz asked, searching her memory for details that they'd shared with her. There weren't many, mostly the outrage that Danny had been on the receiving end of a restraining order, and the fact that Sam had been forced into one of the most hideous dresses anyone had ever seen.

Sam nodded against Tucker's torso.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Sam replied miserably. "He's my best friend. I'm not supposed to be afraid of him."

"So these nightmares you've been having," Jazz's brow furrowed. "They're accurate flashbacks?"

"It's the same every time," the Goth drew a long, shuddering breath. "He cuts the tightrope beneath my feet with his scythe, then he looks at me with those awful eyes," she whimpered, "and laughs as I fall."

"Does Danny remember any of this?" his sister asked, as Sam shook her head.

"He already has enough on his shoulders," she murmured, "he doesn't need my petty fears to add to them."

"This isn't petty, Sam," Tucker stroked her hair consolingly. "It's a big deal. And if it matters this much to you, it matters to us, too. Oh, god," he grimaced. "Does Demerol ever lead to memory loss?" he questioned Jazz, desperately hopeful. "Danny deserves to hate me after the things that I said to him."

"I'm afraid not, Tucker," Jazz's features were truly sympathetic. "But I'll make sure that hears you out when he wakes up."

"Thanks," Tucker's abashed mutter was barely audible.

"You can't tell Danny," Sam pleaded, "please. He can't ever find out that I'm afraid of him."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Jazz sighed. "But I think that we're going to have to. Danny deserves to know what's going on."

"Danny doesn't ever need to know," Sam's eyes flashed. "What happened at Circus Gothika wasn't his fault—any of it—he was possessed," the Goth continued, gaining conviction. "And you know what he's like. Even though he was under Freakshow's control at the time, he's going to try and shoulder the blame, all by himself. And I can't let him do that," she finished weakly, leaning against the back of the bench to keep herself upright.

Jazz hmm'd through her nose. "We'll just have to stop him from doing it. Post traumatic stress disorder." She looked at Sam, making sure the other girl was looking at her as well. "Untreated for three years, causing major psychosis from night terrors."

Sam arched a dark brow at Jazz, it looked far too pale on her face, and Tucker whistled. "That's a mouthful."

"But I'll be okay?" Sam interjected with an elbow to Tucker's side, making him grunt with the impact. The hopeful look on the girl's face made Danny's sister smile with relief as she nodded.

"You want to get well, Sam. It'll take time, but I think you'll be fine."

"What about Danny?" The hope in Sam's eyes was banked now.

Jazz considered it for a moment. Her brother's mental health had always been something she had followed carefully. How could she not? The life he'd lived since he was fourteen wasn't conducive to a proper psyche, especially considering all of the things that he'd been through. Vlad, Pariah Dark. Himself. That was the worst one, and especially coming after the Freakshow incident. It was bad enough that Danny had faced a future that was nothing but hell—the ruin of his entire life.

It was worse because Jazz knew that there had to have been late night rumination over the comparison. She knew without a doubt that Danny had agonized for months over the things he'd done while under Freakshow's control. At least the ones she knew about. It had been well publicized how he'd pillaged and plundered Amity Park, and that was without acknowledging the danger he'd brought the police and regular citizens. To find out now, three years later, that Danny had nearly killed Sam—that was startling.

"If he hasn't broke under the strain yet, I think we have a decent shot at keeping him sane," Jazz said slowly as she considered it.

Tucker swallowed from the other side of Sam, loud enough that Jazz could hear it. His nerves were completely deserved, because whatever the boy had said to her brother—no matter how justified they might have been at the time—were going to be the biggest stumbling block to Danny's sanity that he'd ever faced. And she really needed to know what he'd said if she was going to go back in and accost the halfa in his hospital bed.

Her eyes zeroed in on Tucker and he went pale, looking away. "But that really depends on what you said, doesn't it, Tucker?"

"I'm such an idiot," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Some best friend I turned out to be."

"Tucker?" Sam placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What exactly did you tell Danny?"

"You were alone with him for fifteen minutes, tops, before we came," Jazz added, as she found herself overcome with a surprising desire to ease his discomfort. "You can't have done too much damage," she placed a hand on his. "But I need to know this," she requested, "for Danny's sake."

Her gaze held its resolve as she stared into Tucker's baleful green eyes, unable to hide his guilt.

"I was a dick," Tucker confessed. "I compared him with Vlad, told him to stop pretending to play the hero, and—" he grimaced at the memory, dispirited by the look of utter disbelief that Sam shot at him.

"And what, Tuck?" Jazz pressed. "It can't have been much worse."

"You have no idea," Tucker visibly squirmed.

"Please, Tuck," Jazz implored, coaxingly running her thumb over the back of his hand. "I know it hurts, but keep going."

Tucker took a deep breath. "I might have threatened to turn him in to the Guys in White," he winced.

"You didn't," Sam breathed, shock evident on her features, and Jazz had to admit that she shared the younger woman's sentiments, fighting not to withdraw her hand from Tucker's.

"Tucker..." Jazz sighed, shaking her head. "No wonder he was in such a state when we found him."

"I am so sorry," Tucker's expression was pained as he met her eyes. "If there was any way of proving to Danny how sorry I am, I'd take it in a heartbeat. I'm such an ass."

"This is all my fault, isn't it?" Sam looked close to tears again.

"No, it isn't," Jazz assured her firmly, shushing the Goth as she drew her into an embrace. "You did the best you could, and none of us could've asked any more of you. Neither is it your fault, Tucker," she continued. "You didn't know any better, and acted with Sam's best interests at heart. Danny will understand," or so she hoped.

Jazz couldn't even begin to put her finger on when this situation had become so out of control. Two days ago, her main concern had been nursing Danny's injured pride at Sam's rejection of her younger brother, and now... Jazz had to stop herself from outwardly shaking her head in despair. She now had Sam's post traumatic stress disorder to work through, not to mention Tucker's guilt, and Danny...she sighed. She didn't even know where to begin with her brother.

Well, she'd figure it out. "Sam," Jazz broke out of her reverie with a fortifying breath. "Go clean your face off so you don't look like a refugee orphan when Tucker takes you home."

The younger two snickered at it, and Sam looked a little rebellious for a moment, but she went leaving Tucker and Jazz alone on the bench as Jazz sized him up.

"I'm not mad at you, Tuck," Jazz said finally as she turned to him, one leg on the bench as she leaned forward earnestly. "Really. You were trying to protect Sam. You had to choose between them and… Well, if it had been true it would have been really admirable."

Tucker snorted a little. "Yeah, because Danny can kick my ass eight ways to Sunday—and there's only seven days in a week."

Jazz shook her head. "No, it was sweet that you did it at all." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. She leaned back, eyes glittering emerald. "Very sweet. Trust me, I like sweet."

xXx

Consciousness returned in ebbs for Danny, as his senses slowly returned one by one, haphazardly layering to once again afford him a complete picture of reality. Danny couldn't quite place a finger on it just yet, but for some reason there was a niggling feeling of discomfort and despair worming its way to the front of his consciousness. He shifted, attempting to turn over to his side, when he found himself restrained by a dull tug to the back of his hand.

Oh right, he remembered, grimacing. He was in the hospital. Jazz had convinced him to get some rest after—_oh, shit_. Danny hissed through his teeth, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as his back arched from the sheer pain shooting in stabs from his broken right hand as feeling returned. Typically, the halfa had no issues dealing with pain; it was part of the job description in keeping Amity Park safe. It had to be the drugs, he decided, gritting his teeth. They were messing with his neurons and consequently, his pain threshold.

"You're awake," Jazz leapt to her feet, placing a gentle hand on her brother's forehead, already covered in beads of new sweat from the pain. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Danny croaked out, his words barely audible. "Sam," he started, attempting to jerk upright as the last fragment of reality snapped into place, doubling over in pain from his efforts. Trying to push himself upright with a broken hand was a very bad idea. "Oh god," Danny didn't bother hiding the anguish on his features. "Tucker," he flinched, "Tucker said that I—"

"It's okay," Jazz pressed a finger to her brother's lips to calm him, rearranging his pillows as she sought to persuade him to once again lie down. "You're in no state to be flailing around like you just did," she asserted, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Grudgingly, Danny allowed himself to be eased back onto the pillows.

"You didn't," Jazz clarified abruptly, as Danny's head jerked upwards to meet her eyes, not daring to hope against hope. "You didn't touch Sam," she repeated. "It was all a huge misunderstanding."

Danny's form sagged as relief flooded him, his eyes clenched shut as he whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the powers that were. A misunderstanding; his shoulders shook. That's all it was. "But Tucker," he managed out. "He was so sure, he—"

"We went to see Sam," Jazz explained, sitting in the visitor's chair beside him as she ruffled his hair. "She was too distraught to answer him, so Tucker automatically feared the worst," she grimaced. "We tried to catch up with him, but he was too fast. Even with the car he was cutting through yards and we couldn't keep up. I'm sorry Danny," for the first time since the start of this horrific episode, his sister's eyes shone with a faint hint of tears. "You shouldn't have had to go through that—we should have stopped him."

"Oh," Danny replied stupidly, his drug-induced brain still unable to keep up with the quicksilver emotions he was being forced to go through.

"Tucker's sorry too," Jazz added softly. "He feels terrible about the things he said," her tone was pleading.

"He was going to betray me to the GiW," Danny stated shortly. "I thought that our friendship was stronger than that."

"It is," his sister parried, insistent. "But he was put on the spot, and so scared for Sam's sake…Don't tell me that you wouldn't have acted the same."

"I wouldn't know," Danny snapped. "I've never accused anyone of rape before."

"He wants to talk to you," Jazz continued firmly. "Will you let him?"

"Later," the halfa growled. "I don't want to have anything to do with that son of a bitch at the moment."

"Fair enough," Jazz sighed. "I'll tell him to wait."

Danny grimaced as a fresh twinge of pain flashed up his arm from his freshly operated hand, the hurt helping jolting him to survey things from a new perspective. So he hadn't raped Sam, which was a relief so profound that Danny didn't think he was capable of fully comprehending the situation just yet.

However, it was all well and good that he hadn't forced himself on Sam, but there were still plenty more reasons that his abject misery had yet to lift, as the old depression at Sam's rejection once again sunk in. If he hadn't laid a finger on her, what the hell had invoked such fear in Sam that she broke his nose in her struggles to free herself from his grasp? She was terrified of him; he accepted it glumly. And he didn't even need to give her a reason to be.

Danny fervently wished that the Demerol was back in his system, for his heart fair felt like it was being wrenched from his chest. Sam would never feel for him half of what he felt for her, it was a fact of life that Danny had accepted long ago. But the notion that she couldn't even stand the sight of him was too much for Danny to bear.

"I know this isn't easy for you, Danny," Jazz squeezed his uninjured hand. "But we'll get through this, I promise."

"Nothing's ever going to be the same between us, is it?" Danny said, with resigned despair. "Between any of us."

"It will be," his sister assured. "It'll just take time, but none of us are going anywhere. We can afford to take this slow."

"I hope you're right, Jazz," Danny sighed, "for all our sakes," he lost his train of thought.

"I know I am," Jazz ascertained, but it wasn't difficult to see that his sister was channeling a hell lot more conviction than she felt. "We decided it was best for me to explain the basics. I wasn't there for any of it, and, well, I'm nearly a trained professional."

Her attempt at humor was received with a hint of a smile, but the shadows were still in his as he looked at her. His sister dragged her chair closer to the bed, her hand back on his and nearly a comforting weight. "What do you remember about Freakshow and the Circus Gothika incident?" she asked, and it took all of his strength not to yank his hand away and try and stumble from the bed.

It was the proverbial light bulb turning on inside Danny's head. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow, thankful that he wasn't required to support his own weight for the moment. He remembered Freakshow all to well, and his mind control better than that. It gave him nightmares for months after—he still had them at times. It was the worst thing he'd lived through at the time, and it still ranked high up. The total loss of one's self, happily doing the bidding of a monster when every act went against his very soul.

And what he'd done to Sam—It was no wonder she feared him. How long had she hid it from him? How much she must hate him for it.

He shuddered in the bed and opened his eyes to look at his sister. His voice was hoarse when he answered her. "I remember everything."

xXx

"Jazz, I really don't think this is a good idea," Tucker started as he balked at leaving the elevator.

The petite redhead was practically pushing him into the hospital hallway, making Tucker wince. He was angry enough not to think twice about where he was the last time he'd come. That was five days ago, and Jazz was determined to make him talk to Danny, and vice versa, before the halfa was released the next morning. Something about a 'controlled environment' to keep them from making a scene and yelling at each other.

Tucker honestly didn't know how Jazz believed that there wouldn't be a scene, or yelling, no matter where they were. Then again, Tucker had damn near emotionally castrated Danny without yelling once. He just didn't believe that begging forgiveness for every thinking that of his best friend would be without raised voices.

"Tucker," Jazz said as she pulled him close in to the wall. "I know you're worried, but it'll be okay. He'd hurt and he's angry, but he hasn't seen anyone but me and mom and dad since you were here. He wants to see you, he's just…"

"He just hates me?" Tucker suggested.

Jazz sighed as she leaned into him, her lips soft against his. Despite his misgivings about where they were and why they were there, Tucker was more than happy to hold the girl against him. If there was a single good thing that had come from this fiasco for Tucker, it was that he'd kissed Jazz more times in the last five days than anyone else in the last five years.

"He doesn't hate you, Tuck. And you're going to talk to him." Her tone brooked no argument, and Tucker followed her as she began pulling him toward Danny's room once again.

"Maybe he's asleep," Tucker suggested hopefully, as Jazz peered into the tiny window outside the ward door.

"No such luck, Tuck," Jazz's tone was laced with sympathy, as he stooped to join her in staring through the old, scratched glass. "You're going to have to get this over with today."

Danny was curled up on the hospital bed, reading, the IV still attached to his arm. To the techno geek's immense relief, his features appeared far more serene than Tucker had seen in the past week or so, to the extent that he could perhaps believe Jazz's insistence that his best friend was well on the road to recovery. But Tucker didn't doubt that whatever composure Danny had managed to recover since he had inflicted those unspeakable accusations on the halfa would promptly vanish the instance he made his presence known.

"Get on with it," Jazz coaxed encouragingly, giving him a small push.

Grimacing, Tucker gripped the door handle and pressed downwards, every fiber of his being fighting the urge to chicken out there and then when the handle evicted an audible click. It was time to face the music.

"Jazz?" Danny queried, not bothering to look up from his reading, the click alerting him to Tucker's entrance. "You're back early."

Tucker shot a look of helplessness at Jazz, who merely shrugged and remained outside, beyond Danny's line of vision. He gulped; it looked like he was on his own for this one.

"Actually," Tucker just about managed out, "it's me."

Danny started slightly, before a look of thunder descended upon his features. "Oh," he said shortly, subjecting Tucker to a glare of glacial standards as he shut his book with a dull thud.

"Hey," the techno geek's stab at normalcy failed miserably as Danny's stare hardened further.

"You here to accuse me of rape again?" his tone was frosty.

"Look, about that," Tucker began, charging forward before Danny could interrupt him. Or worse, demand that he left. "I'm sorry," remorse bled from his features. "I was totally, utterly wrong. Those things I said? They were completely out of line, and if I could take them back, I would."

"But you can't, can you?" Danny replied flatly, but Tucker could tell from his demeanor that he was still listening. His best friend simply wanted him to grovel more before bestowing forgiveness. And that was fair enough, Tucker flinched. He didn't even deserve to be in Danny's company right now.

"Look," he sighed. "If there was any way of proving to you how sorry I am, I'd take it in a heartbeat."

"You're an idiot," the halfa replied at length. "Why did you even bother coming?"

"Jazz made me," Tucker admitted. "She said that this would be the best possible scenario for an apology, even if closure is still out of the question."

"Since when did you listen to Jazz?" Danny raised a dark eyebrow, in surprise.

"I always have," Tucker objected vehemently, bristling.

The blue-eyed man blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. Tucker could practically see the cogs turning in his best friend's head. _No_, Tucker silently wailed. _He can't have figured me out already_.

"Oh," Danny uttered with deliberate slowness, a hardness of a different kind entering his features. "Really?"

The blood froze in Tucker's veins as he realized that Danny had pinpointed the source of his discomfort. Even if the pair didn't know each other half as well as they did, it wouldn't be difficult to see Tucker for what he was—a schmuck in love. Typically, Tucker knew Danny didn't give a damn who or what he dated. But this was different; this was his sister. Jazz was off limits. All parties involved knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Their eyes met in mutual comprehending, and Tucker flinched and looked away.

"God," Danny swore violently, disgusted. "Who's the one lacking in honor now? I'm out of commission for less than a week and you move in on my _sister_."

"It wasn't like that," Tucker protested weakly.

"I don't want to hear it," Danny snarled. "Did you touch her, you son of a bitch?" accusing blue eyes bore into his vision.

"I didn't make the first move, I swear." Even as Tucker raised both hands in a gesture of surrender; the techno geek could not help but note the irony of their current role reversal. "Do you think Jazz would've let me?"

"Stay away from my sister, you fucker," the halfa growled. "I may be connected to an IV, but that's not going to stop me from kicking your ass."

Tucker held his hands up. "Alright, I deserve that. I know I do."

This time the growl was much more menacing. "You deserve a hell of a lot worse than that."

Danny's eyes were glowing now, pale, pale blue instead of the dangerous green. Tucker shivered and looked away. "I'm sorry, Danny," he whispered. "You didn't see Sam. You don't know what it was like. It made me sick to think you would—could—do something like that. I was just trying to protect her," he finished helplessly.

The temperature continued to drop until only sheer willpower kept Tucker from shivering, but he never let his eyes stray from Danny's. "I really am sorry, Danny. I know there's no excuse. I was angry. I acted on it. I'm sorry."

He had the feeling that he could say the words 'I'm sorry' for the rest of his life and it would never make up for the things he said—especially concerning the GiW.

"The Guys in White, Tucker," Danny said, and though his voice started out accusingly it broke halfway through. The fear and anguish in Danny's eyes made Tucker's already sick stomach take another twist towards his throat.

"I know," he breathed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. If you _had_—"

"Shut up, Tuck," Danny said, stopping the line of thought as he lay back against the hospital bed. His broken hand was resting on his lap and his other was still clenched white knuckled around the book he'd been reading.

Tucker watched the halfa carefully. He looked tired, and he looked depressed. But Danny also called him 'Tuck,' and his heart leapt in his chest. He'd done it unthinkingly, and it made Tucker begin to actually believe that there might be a chance at salvaging the friendship despite what he'd done. No matter that Tucker was sure what he'd done was nothing less than unforgivable, he still had hope.

Danny sighed out. "I want to hate you," he said matter-of-factly.

Tucker nodded. "I deserve nothing less."

Danny let go of the book and picked at the blanket across him. "I don't hate you," he finally admitted, and Tucker's eyes flew up to meet Danny's, now the clear blue he was used to seeing instead of iced and hard. They were darker than before, the barely healed hurts and accusations buried within, but he'd said it.

Tucker nearly shook with relief as he groped for the nearest chair and sank into it. "You don't know what it means to me to hear you say that, Danny," Tucker told him without any hesitation. "I'm really sorry, man."

Danny sighed and shook his head. "I get the feeling I'm going to get sick of hearing that," he told Tucker, even as Tucker grinned at him in sheepish relief. "I know why you did what you did, Tuck. If it had been me, I'd've done the same thing." Danny paused, head tilting back as he thought for a moment before he looked at Tucker again. "Actually, I'd do a lot worse."

Tucker laughed a little and Danny waved a hand at him, pointing. "But don't you ever turn me in to the GiW, no matter what I do. Just kill me first. Promise me that. Swear it on your love of meat."

Tucker nodded. "I'll never turn you into the Guys in White. I'll kill you myself. I swear it on my love of meat," he repeated obediently. "Does it count if we don't have any meat present? I get the feeling like I should be putting my hand on a stack of t-bones."

Danny chuckled and winced a little as the laughter reminded him of his still healing nose. "I think we're fine without it."

"Danny? Are…" Tucker paused before gathering his courage and asking the question he so desperately wanted answered. "Are we okay?"

Danny looked at him for a long minute and Tucker's hopes started to crash down as he finally shook his head. "No," he told his best friend. "We're not okay. But I think we will be."

Tucker sat back, feeling as if the world had fallen from his shoulders with a deep, shuddering sigh.

"But Tucker," Danny said in an implacable tone. "I'm still going to kick your ass. Come on, my _sister_?"

xXx

As she climbed the stairs to Danny's room Sam walked softly. It was something she'd done hundreds of thousands of times, and yet this time was more nerve wracking than any other climb she'd ever made. He'd been released from the hospital a week ago, but she hadn't had the courage to come until now, even with Jazz's increasingly unsubtle prodding. Jazz, at least, was well on track back to normalcy. The Fenton's and Tucker were all taking Jazz to the airport right now to catch a flight back so she wouldn't miss an exam, and Tucker was going to be driving her car down to her the following weekend.

Which left Sam alone in the house with Danny. Not that he knew it; she'd planned this so carefully. She trusted him. Hell, she loved him. If anything was to come of it she needed to get used to being alone with him.

His door was open and she paused in the doorway, leaning against it trying to look casual and knowing she failed miserably. Her feet were only in socks, funny gray and green striped ones, and she wiggled her toes as she tried to fight her nerves off at seeing him. He was laying on his bed, eyes closed as he listened to the music coming from his speakers. His broken hand was still in its cast, but the other was tucked under his head as it nodded in time with the beat.

The plaster attached to his nose made him look ridiculous, but Sam didn't care; he was beautiful, all of him. She didn't bother to suppress the soft sigh of longing that escaped her lips; it wasn't as though it could be heard over the music. How she had missed him. She would have gone to see him the day that he was discharged from hospital, but she hadn't the guts then. Sam wasn't even sure if she was ready for this now, nearly two weeks after the start of the horrible incident. It didn't quite make sense, how she could be afraid of his company, yet spent every waking moment pining herself to death over him.

No, her hand clenched at fistfuls of her skirts. She had to do this if she wanted their friendship to ever resume any semblance of normalcy. Or as normal as life ever was for Team Phantom; Sam's lips quirked into a small smile. After all, Danny and Tucker had begun talking again. From what Tucker had divulged, conversation was still strained, but they were just about beginning to feel comfortable in each other's presence once more. It was time for her to do the same. Especially since it could be argued that the entire situation had been her fault to begin with.

It was a long while before he noticed her, and Sam wasn't certain that the wait had helped to steel her nerves. But if Sam had thought herself unprepared for this encounter, her multitude of insecurities paled before Danny's, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions flickering across his features as he regarded her. For a single, chilling instant, the Goth wasn't sure if the halfa was going to go ghost and flee from her presence. But he hadn't, and Sam tried her best to ignore the raw pangs of hurt in her chest as he tore his blue eyes away from hers, unable to meet her gaze.

She stuttered out a greeting that was lost as it mingled with the pounding bass, trying to force her lips into a friendly smile that just wouldn't come. Sam chewed on her bottom lip, desperately willing, _begging_ for her emotions to settle. It was a while until Danny regained sufficient composure to come to his senses, finally realizing the predicament in their communications, as he rose unsteadily from the bed, fumbling for the 'off' button on the stereo as silence finally descended upon them.

It was awfully quiet without the blaring music, leaving Sam feeling rather naked and vulnerable now that she knew that she held Danny's complete attention. "A Cross and a Girl Named Blessed?" she queried, striving to keep her voice light and conversational.

"Yeah," Danny replied softly, obviously still on edge. "It reminds me of—never mind," he flushed, staring straight ahead at her feet, but he didn't need to complete the statement for Sam to hazard a guess at what she was about to say.

"I missed you," she offered timidly, twining and untwining fingers as she remained in his doorway, too afraid to invite herself onto his bed as she would've done under normal circumstances.

His eyes were shadowed as he said to her, "I wanted to come see you. I just didn't think you wanted to see me." Sam looked down, afraid for a moment that her eyes would betray her and tell him she _hadn't_ wanted to see him.

"Jazz told me a little about it," Danny offered her.

Sam's face rose and her eyes met his as she nodded. "She told me she did. I… I'm not ready to tell you everything yet." She breathed in shakily, forcibly controlling the fear that wanted to rise as her memory supplied her with years' worth of nightmarish visages, deadly plunges, harsh whispered voices asking, 'How _should_ I scare you?'

"But you're okay?" His voice was soft, tentative, almost like he didn't really want her answer for fear that she might say no.

As much as it hurt her to do it, Sam shook her head. Anything less than truth would be unfair to him. "No, I'm okay. But Jazz is helping a lot. It'll take time before things are more normal in my head."

"Oh." He seemed to deflate, and it broke her heart to see him turn so inward, his features settling into misery.

"Oh, Danny," she breathed as her feet carried her forward. "It's not your fault."

"It is," he said in a hard tone. She nearly flinched as she found herself sitting next to him, hand on his arm just above the cast on his hand.

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I should have talked to Jazz when I realized I was having a problem." She shrugged a little. "It just sort of built until it broke. That's my fault, not yours."

"How can you say that?" he demanded, his face like thunder.

It was everything Sam could do to simply stare him down and not break down in tears.

"Because it's true," she insisted.

He snorted furiously, then winced and groaned as his good hand found the bandage across his face. "Oh, god. Remind me not to do that. That really hurt."

His cheek was warm under her hand, and Sam thought that it must be like ice for him to heat it so. She was caught off balance when she found the warm cheek to hers and arms wrapping around her body. The cast was heavy on her back, but his other hand held her tightly, fingers splayed as she buried her face against his neck. Her body was tense, but not wire taut, as she would have expected. Jazz was right, as usual; time helped, and so did seeing him again.

"I missed you," she breathed into his skin. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry this all happened."

His arms tightened on her for a moment. "Nothing to be sorry for, Sam." He pulled back, his eyes twinkling brightly for a moment. "It's all Freakshow's fault, okay?"

She nodded, startled to find tears in her eyes. "Right. His fault. Still sorry though."

He tried for a charming smile but Sam only found it disarmingly sweet. "Music?"

"Music," she nodded, and found nothing but relief in the beginning of healing.

xXx

When his parents and Tucker returned they found Danny sprawled on his bed listening to his music, once again, and Sam sleeping haphazard next to him.


End file.
